


dust motes.

by canniballistics



Category: Wild Adapter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It might be time to go shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dust motes.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opalmatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/gifts).



> Please forgive me; I haven't read the series for quite a while but I loved your prompts a lot and had to attempt writing at least one. I tried to make it read like one of Minekura's comics- if I came even close and you enjoyed it, then that's all I could really ask for. I do hope you like it, that's the most important thing. Happy holidays, and happy Yuletide!

"Ah-" 

There's a frown on his face as he picks up the almost empty bottle of sriracha, shaking it idly as if that would refill it. "Hey, Kubo-cha-" Tokito begins, turning to call out when a sharp pain courses through his hand. 

It starts at his wrist, crawling along his nerves and settling in his fingertips before engulfing his entire hand. The bottle falls, bouncing off a coffee can full of pens and knocking another jar off the counter, the shatter as it breaks going ignored. He's good at not crying out by now- a sharp gasp halts his breath instead as he grips his wrist with his other hand, curling around it and looking more like he's trying to pull the hand off rather than protect it. It hurts. It hurts like hell, and on the one hand he wants to call out, instinctively and childishly wants Kubo-chan to fix it somehow. He can't, though; there's nothing Kubo-chan can do, and it's not worth it to make him just stand and watch. 

Only when the pain begins to subside does he realize that it feels like he's being watched. He looks around, but there's no one at the window, no one in the doorway; nothing but for a thin cloud of smoke, disappearing even as he notices it. It's so brief, he wonders if it was even there; if maybe it was just the afternoon sun hitting a cloud of dust motes. For some reason he can't name, seeing it is comforting, even if it's nothing. Tokito lets out a harsh breath as he uncurls his fingers, flexing his right hand as he lets go of his wrist, and sighs. 

"What a mess," he grumbles, dropping into a crouch as he begins to pick up the scattered pens and pencils. There are still tremors, aftershocks and little jolts of pain numbing his fingertips, but this is bearable. It's still better than it is during an episode, so what choice does he really have but to move on? So he ignores it, or tries to, scooping up the writing utensils and replacing them in their can before starting on the broken jar.

He gets most of the big pieces of glass cleaned up, moves to get the broom when there's a voice from behind him. "Wet paper towel." Tokito whips around, eyes wide, to see Kubota standing there, leaning against the door frame and watching him. "What was that?"

"If you use a wet paper towel, it'll pick up the shards you can't see." He pads into the kitchen, regardless of whether or not he's stepping on any glass –in all honesty, Tokito doubts it would even pierce his skin if he did- and grabs some paper towels, soaking them under the faucet and wringing them out before kneeling down next to him. The light from the setting sun hits his glasses just right when he does, the glare making it impossible to see his eyes. He never knows what he's thinking whenever it happens, but Tokito doesn't comment. He watches intently as Kubota dabs the paper towels around for a minute or so, then lifts them up to reveal tiny, glittering pieces of glass stuck to the bottom.

"Whoa," is the reaction, surprised and pleased at learning something new. He watches Kubota get up to throw away the paper towels before realizing, "Hey, wait. How long were you watching? You could have helped, you know!"

The change isn't exactly visible, but he knows that Kubo-chan is smiling. He shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets as though they weren't still damp. "Not too long. You took care of it, didn't you?" The hint of a smile vanishes then as he reaches into his pocket to pull out an almost empty pack of cigarettes.

Tokito can't help wondering if they're still talking about the broken glass, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he just nods, looking away to pick up the fallen bottle of sriracha. A rush of thoughts buzz through his head, and he ends up just crouching for a minute. _Was Kubo-chan there the whole time? He didn't see, did he? He's probably upset. But there's nothing for me to apologize for, is there? There isn't. I didn't do anything wrong._

_Did he see?_

As if to remind him that he's not normal, one last phantom pain spasms through his hand, more painful than the other tremors but still not as bad as the first one. Tokito grits his teeth, closing his eyes and bearing it as he tries not to squeeze the bottle too hard. His body moves on instinct, bringing his beast hand closer to himself in an effort to protect –or crush?- it, when a different hand plops onto his head. He looks up, eyes wide and surprised at the gesture. Kubo-chan just ruffles his hair as he looks through the cabinet, an unlit cigarette balanced between his lips. It's as though he's separate from his limb, not acknowledging what he's doing, but his hand still moves. Almost petting him like a cat, and Tokito looks back down at the bottle in his hand to hide the relief on his face. _He's not upset._

"Kubo-chan."

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Me? Looking through the cabinet. I think we're out of sriracha."

Tokito's grip tightens around the bottle in his hand, but he still doesn't destroy it. "Yeah, I noticed. I wonder whose fault that is?" he teases.

The reply is smooth, not missing a beat as Kubota says, "I seem to remember a certain someone insisting his noodles were better with more sriracha in them. Now who could that be?"

"What, no way!" Tokito looks up at him, catches the mischief on his face as Kubota looks back down at him, and the difference is noticeable when he finally pulls his hand back. The words are barely out of his mouth before Tokito remembers: his noodles had been pretty boring last week. So he'd added more sriracha, even made a comment about how they were running out. How could he have forgotten? "…ah."

There's no further comment as Tokito stands to throw the crumpled bottle away. At least, not until Kubota hums quietly. "I guess it's time to go grocery shopping, isn't it? We're almost out of snacks, too."

"Snacks and sriracha? What a crappy shopping trip. We can get all that at a gas station," Tokito grumbles, standing beside him to stare into the cabinet. It's getting empty, but isn't barren. Not really something that warrants a shopping trip, but it's the little things that matter the most, isn't it?

"Oh? Well then, you won't mind if I send you out to pick it up, will you?" 

The light hits Kubota's glasses just right again, but this time his voice gives him away. A quiet tease, his eyebrows raised: he doesn't mean any of it. So Tokito grins at him, the pain in his hand completely forgotten as he strides to the apartment's entryway to fetch his shoes. "Come on, Kubo-chan, let's hurry. I wanna get back before it gets dark."

"Yes, yes." Kubota glances around the kitchen one last time, noting the crushed and distorted bottle in the trash can silently, before following after him. "You didn't finish off all the Calorie Mate, did you?"

"…um."

The front door shuts with a soft _click_ , and the light slowly fades.


End file.
